


stepping in the heart of this here

by guiltylights



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Getting Together, I am not sorry, M/M, Tsukishima Kei is Bad at Feelings, Yamaguchi the Mom Friend™, like REALLY PERIPHERAL, the kagehina is peripheral, there is a Lettuce Dress and Kuroo involved, there is tag for that god bless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 16:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7395550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guiltylights/pseuds/guiltylights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moving out, feelings, and oh– plus a lettuce dress. – Kurotsuki.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stepping in the heart of this here

**Author's Note:**

> [Time started: 26 April 2016, 9:41am;– ]
> 
> Idk. I’m mostly just bored. Also, I don’t wanna do my schoolwork. Hence, /gestures to whatever the hell this is/ 
> 
> Expect basically no plot guys. 
> 
> Title is from “Feel Good Inc.” by Gorillaz.

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            Tsukishima walked through the door of his apartment at three pm on a Wednesday afternoon precisely thirty minutes after his last college class of the day, and immediately he turned around and walked back out.

“Tsukki! Tsukki c’m _on!_ “ Tsukishima might pause to give the voice calling his name some thought, but said voice did not only just sound utterly unapologetic, but it was also irritatingly amused, and it was accompanied by loud obnoxious bellowings that Tsukishima could only _presume_ to be laughter. It sounded like a scarecrow being ripped through a shredder, and Tsukishima felt his hope for humanity (as little as it is) drain out of him. It was _three pm._ His last class had _only_ just ended. He didn’t deserve to have to deal with this.

            Tsukishima felt a vein pop. Somewhere, a soul was dying.

             Tsukishima could only presume that it was his.

             “Aww, Tsukki, Tsukki baby, don’t do this! Look here! _Tsukki!”_ After more raucous laughter, the man behind Tsukishima started singing, “ _baby don’t hurt me~”_

 _Oh my god,_ Tsukishima thought, as he rapidly speed walked his way down the halls of the apartment complex, _oh my god, you can’t be serious._

            Not only was the man trailing after Tsukishima hollering his name at _the top of his lungs,_ he had now also decided to start singing a rendition of “What is Love” by Haddaway at him, yelling the lyrics to it _so loudly_ that Tsukishima was about eighty-percent sure that _all_ of his neighbours could hear him being _publicly embarrassed._ And the man behind Tsukishima was very much off-key. Tsukishima can’t even make out the original tune. His eardrums kind of want to die, right now, and Tsukishima hoped that his eardrums would take him along with it.

            Fucking Haddaway. Fucking neighbours. And _fuck_ fucking _Kuroo Tetsurou,_ the hot mess currently trailing behind him who is behind it all. He was still laughing his broken shredded-scarecrow laugh. Tsukishima wanted to die.

            “Tsukki, c’mon, look at me!”

            “Not when you’re dressed like that!” Tsukishima finally yelled back, irritated, and increased his speed rounding the corner, if that were even possible. He ended up right in the elevator lobby. Behind him, Tsukishima could hear Kuroo catching up to him, and with nowhere to run he spun around to face Kuroo, glaring so hard that plants could shrivel up under the withering contempt and heat of his gaze. _“Kuroo, I swear to every god continue following me and I will eviscerate you where you stand–“_  

            “So you say, but who is currently standing here facing me?” Kuroo crowed, raising his arms palm-forward like he was invoking the holy spirit of God, and not being the _flaming Satan’s asshole_ Tsukishima knew he really was. “Really, Tsukki, who’s the real winner here?”

            “Based on what you’re currently dressed in, believe me when I say that it really isn’t you,” Tsukishima retorted disdainfully, quickly, gold eyes flickering quickly over Kuroo’s frame once before Tsukishima looked away like the sight physically hurt his soul. “But then again _I’m_ the one forced to look at it, so really there are no winners here.”

            Just then, the elevator doors dinged, and out walked out their neighbour Yaku just back from grocery shopping. He had paper bags balanced on both arms, tucked into the crooks of his elbows, and they were each overflowing with food. Tsukishima allowed himself a brief moment to ponder at that ( _what the hell, Yaku lives alone, what does he need all that food for_ ) before turning his attention back to the big issue at hand.

            Yaku looks up from struggling to balance his grocery shopping in his arms, and spots Tsukishima. “Oh, hey, Tsukishi–“ he greets, before promptly taking notice of Kuroo and subsequently dropping all his groceries onto the floor out of shock. All three of them heard the resounding _cracks_ of what might have been eggs. And possibly a few glass jars.

             Yaku stared down at his groceries, appalled, before looking up to look at Kuroo again. “Kuroo, what the actual fuck.”

            Kuroo grinned, and struck a pose. The fabric of what he was wearing strained against his thighs. “You like? I ordered it off the Internet; they had just my size.” Kuroo preened, running a hand through his modern art of a disaster hair. “I just _had_ to wear it and show lil Tsukki here. I think the green really brings out my eyes, don’t you think?" 

            Yaku blinked, once, twice, thrice. Kuroo started guffawing, again, voice screeching, and Yaku turned to Tsukishima, who was currently staring at Kuroo with a curl on his lip and with so much disdain that Yaku was honestly surprised that Kuroo hasn’t curdled like sour milk under his gaze. 

            “Is he–?”

            “Yes.”

            “Is that really a–?”

            “Please don’t say it out loud. It might become real if you do.” 

            Yaku glanced at Kuroo, then at Tsukishima, then at Kuroo again. He licked his lips, and attempted to put his thoughts in order.

            “Is Kuroo currently wearing a _lettuce dress?_ ”

            Tsukishima picked up an apple from off the ground, and flung it into Kuroo Tetsurou’s face.

 

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            Tsukishima Kei considered himself a decent person.

            A lot of people had called him a “certified grade-A asshole with no sense of human sympathy”, but overall Tsukishima still considered himself a _decent person to get along with_. Just because he didn’t have the patience to deal with people who was filled with a whole lot of nonsense and stupidity (for example, Hinata fucking Shouyou, who was the person to call him a grade-A asshole in the first place), and found it within himself to chase said people away with condescension, disdain and thinly-veiled insults, doesn’t necessarily mean that he was _not a decent person._

            Which is why he doesn’t know what precisely he had done to offend God, fate, or the heavens to land himself _Kuroo Tetsurou as a roommate._

            “Technically,” Yamaguchi pointed out to him, one day after The Lettuce Dress Incident after which Tsukishima had met up with him in a café to rant about it in excessive detail, “you agreed to share an apartment with him, remember?”

            Yamaguchi’s black piercings shone lowly in the afternoon sunlight. His ponytail bobbed as he ducked his head to peer up at Tsukishima, waiting for Tsukishima’s response.

            It had seemed like a fair enough decision, at the time. Yamaguchi went to a different university across the other side of the city and sharing a flat with him would have meant an additional hour of travelling, and that was too much time wasted on travelling as far as Tsukishima was concerned. Kuroo happened to be studying in the same university as him, albeit in different faculties and in different years, and Tsukishima had managed to keep in contact with him throughout high school and beyond (surprisingly), so when Kuroo mentioned that his apartment was just fifteen minutes away from school and that he had an extra room in his house that Tsukishima could use, Tsukishima had thought it a reasonable solution to his housing problem. He could live close to the university, save money with rent, and could also live with somebody that he was at least fairly comfortable with (as opposed to sharing the flat of a total stranger). 

            Tsukishima had just neglected to think of the _Kuroo Tetsurou_ part of the equation.

            “C’mon, Tsukki, I’m sure it’s not as bad as you make it out to be,” Yamaguchi patted the side of Tsukishima’s arm as he took a sip of his iced tea, the way one might do to placate a whining child. Tsukishima swatted his arm away, irritated, and took a sip of his own.

            “He wore a lettuce dress, Yamaguchi. _A lettuce dress._ ”

            The café that Tsukishima and Yamaguchi were currently in was a favourite of Yamaguchi’s; with buttery brown tiles and cream walls with wood paneling, the overall atmosphere of the café was quaint and calm and lovely, and Yamaguchi often told Tsukishima that he liked coming here to study when he just couldn’t concentrate on his work. Tsukishima, frankly speaking, couldn’t really relate to that kind of predicament (Tsukishima could study anywhere so long as he put his mind to it), but right now the café was a great place to get the one thing that he needed: _to be away from Kuroo Tetsurou._

            “Was it made out of real lettuce?” Yamaguchi asked, curious.

            “No, it was just lettuce print, though I think he managed to hang a few lettuce leaves around his person though I don’t know how the hell how and– that is _not the point, Yamaguchi._ ”

            Yamaguchi raised his hands up in defense. “Sorry, sorry. So what is the point?”

            Tsukishima slaps a hand on the coffee table, causing his own iced tea to slop over the rim of the cup and startling quite a few other café patrons, “the problem _is is that I can’t go on living like this, Yamaguchi,_ ” Tsukishima hissed.

            The problem is that Kuroo had started pulling shit like this _far too much_ for Tsukishima to be okay with. Having been acquainted with (and also friends with, despite his own best efforts) people like Kageyama and Hinata meant that he had grown accustomed to high levels of sheer nonsense, so much so that his high school self would’ve been astonished at, but even so Kuroo had managed to blow past those limits and straight into the next level of _annoying the fuck out of Tsukishima Kei._ A feat, really. The Lettuce Dress Incident was really only the final straw that broke the camel’s back.

            There was that time with his room. And that time when he threw a gigantic housewarming party two months after Tsukishima had moved in, surprising him and therefore nearly giving him a heart attack, and then there was also that one time when Kuroo switched out the cream in his shortcake with _toothpaste._ Sometimes Tsukishima still sees his life flashing before eyes whenever he is reminded of that incident.

             Yamaguchi’s voice broke Tsukishima’s train of thought of looking into the Great Beyond. “Okay, so… what are you going to do?”

            Tsukishima paused. He hadn’t actually thought this far, fuelled so much by irritation that his sight only extended as far as ranting about Kuroo in order to blow off steam. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t serious about not being able to take it anymore though, and now that he was officially calmer and thus back to his more rational self, Tsukishima started thinking about what to do next.

            “I think I might move out. I’ll start looking for apartments,” Tsukishima said finally, looking down at his iced tea as Yamaguchi waits patiently across from him, fishing ice out of his own already finished iced tea – having known Tsukishima since they were children, Yamaguchi was more than familiar with Tsukishima’s patterns, and hence knew when to know Tsukishima was thinking, and let him think. “I’ll probably talk to Kuroo about it, too. Let him know.”

            Yamaguchi paused.

            “Wait, you’re serious?" 

            Tsukishima thought about it. “Probably,” he concluded.

            Tsukishima thought about Kuroo, though about about him and his constant antics, thought about the way Kuroo seemed to always drive him up the wall. Tsukishima nodded. He was pretty sure. “Yes, I am.”

            Yamaguchi was looking at him with an odd look in his eye. Tsukishima frowned at the gaze Yamaguchi was leveling at him. “What?”

            Yamaguchi wrinkled his nose, freckles littered across his tanned skin scrunching up as he did so. He shook his head, and Tsukishima watched his messy, spiky half-ponytail bob with the movement, watched the way the slated sunlight through the glass windows at the café front seem to soften the sharp angles of Yamaguchi’s face. “No, nothing. You always do know best, Tsukki.”

            Tsukishima snorted into his tea. “Of course–”

            “Though you’ve always never really known yourself,” Yamaguchi continued, eyes glancing off to the side as if lost in thought, before looking Tsukishima squarely in the eye. “Don’t end up making decisions you’ll end up regretting, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi said firmly.

            Tsukishima stared.

 

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            Finding an apartment had been simple enough. All Tsukishima had to do was look online and find one that was to his satisfaction, and doing that had only taken him a day. There was a small, one-room apartment about twenty-five minutes away from his university whose rent he could afford with his current budget, and Tsukishima had called the phone number provided in the online ad to ask about its availability. The person who was renting it out, some guy named Iwaizumi, had quoted his reason for renting it out as being “my idiot best friend being a general idiot who I have to take care of” with no explanation, but as long as the apartment was in working condition and had proper electricity wiring, Tsukishima couldn’t really give a shit. Finding the apartment had been the easy part.

            Now all he had to do was talk to Kuroo about it.

            Tsukishima didn’t understand why he felt nervous.

             He came home one day after class – physics was a hell of a major – and found Kuroo in the kitchen, chopping up vegetables to make dinner. They took turns for things like this, because both of them were smart enough to have learned how to cook at some point in their lives, but even on Tsukishima’s worst days when Kuroo had managed to done something to drive him absolutely round the bend, Tsukishima would have to admit he was lying if he said that their cooking skills were of the same level. Kuroo could especially cook mackerel like nobody’s business, and even Tsukishima, who was never particularly fond of fish, had to admit to that (as much as it distasted him to do so).  

             Tsukishima had thought that it was his turn to cook today, and he closed the door.

             Kuroo twisted his body around to look at who was at the door – as if it could be anybody else but Tsukishima – and spotted Tsukishima toeing his shoes off the door, headphones sliding off his head. “Oh, Tsukki!” He grinned, smile lazy and curled like a cat’s like it always is, and Tsukishima looks up in response. “We’re having macaroni salad and spaghetti for dinner tonight. That okay with you?”

            “Yeah.” Tsukishima was really fine with anything.

            Kuroo’s smirk split into something more devious, curled into more of a cheshire cat’s. “You sure? The vegetables in the salad are _lettuce,_ just so you know,” Kuroo sang out, laugh-snorting before turning back to chopping up the carrots on the board.

            A shudder ran up Tsukishima’s back before he could stop it; the image of Kuroo in that fucking lettuce dress, skirt tight and straining against Kuroo’s thighs (good lord how _short_ had been that thing), the bright green spaghetti straps of the dress against Kuroo’s broad shoulders ( _fuck that idiot is cooking spaghetti on purpose isn’t he_ ), the fucking _real lettuce earrings Kuroo had somehow hooked around his ears_ – the image of it felt like it would be seared into the backs of his retinas forever, and Tsukishima felt some part of his soul shrivel up in him.

            Kuroo must have somehow heard Tsukishima shaking his head to get rid of the image, because he guffawed louder that ever over the vegetables, throwing his head back and nearly slicing into his finger as he did, and nearly wheezing with the effort. The kettle over the stove started whistling – and the sound of it, along with Kuroo’s laughter, pressed against Tsukishima’s eardrums weirdly somehow. Tsukishima thought that it was annoyance. He frowned at Kuroo’s back.

            “Kuroo, we have to talk.” Tsukishima walked closer to where Kuroo was.

            Kuroo paused from his chopping. “Hmm?”

            “It’s relatively important.” Tsukishima allowed.

            The kettle was still whistling. Kuroo walked over to switch it off, and the whistling noise got cut off abruptly into silence. The sudden silence seemed to make the room feel much larger than it was. “Alright.” Kuroo pulled up a chair from the dining table. “What did you want to talk about?”

            And Kuroo sat backwards on the chair, folded arms resting on top of the back, knees on either side of the chair and head laid on top of the chair backing as he looked up at Tsukishima, and Kuroo still had a lazy smile rolling on his features. He looked trusting – he looked trusting and open under the kitchen light, and Tsukishima stared at him for a moment before going to sit at the other end of the table.

            “I’m thinking of moving out.”

            And Tsukishima watched as Kuroo’s face shifted slightly, changed. Kuroo unfolded his arms and leaned back instead, his back straightening into something like a spine, and the smile dropped off his face. “Any reason?” Kuroo asked, his tone light, but his eyes were fixed on Tsukishima’s face with a kind of intensity that Tsukishima couldn’t ignore. He looked away. 

            “No particular reason.” He muttered. “Just thought it was time for me to find my own place, see how it feels like. Get used to it for the future.”

            Kuroo raised an eyebrow at that. “You know you’re welcome to stay here indefinitely, right? I’m not going to kick you out once you graduate from university or something, if that’s what you’re worried about,” and Tsukishima didn’t deign to reply to that. 

            “I’ve already started looking for apartments,” Tsukishima continued. “I found an acceptable one about twenty-five minutes away from university campus, and it’s cheap enough that I can afford it. I’ve already contacted the owner; they said that they could rent it out to me. I’ll be moving in about three months.”

            Throughout the entire time Tsukishima was talking, Kuroo had been leaning forward, and Tsukishima could feel Kuroo’s eyes boring holes into the side of his face as he stared. “You’ve sure thought about this, huh,” Kuroo said, finally, looking down and picking at the lint off his jeans fabric, and as Tsukishima glanced to his side he could see a small smile on Kuroo’s face. “Could I ask, when did you decide to move?” 

            “About one week ago.”

            And here Kuroo’s eyes snapped to Tsukishima’s face again, and Tsukishima couldn’t look away. His mildly startled eyes met Kuroo’s. “Is this about the lettuce dress from two weeks ago?” Kuroo asked.

            Kuroo always had been much more perceptive than he lets on. Tsukishima kind of hates him for that, sometimes.

            “No.” Kuroo’s eyes bore harder into Tsukishima’s. “Okay, yes.” Tsukishima admits. “But the main reason is really that I think it’s time to find my own space.” Tsukishima was only half-lying. 

            Kuroo studied Tsukishima’s face for a moment, eyes sweeping over every feature, and Tsukishima fought down the urge to hide away from his gaze. When Kuroo’s eyes finally met his again, Tsukishima couldn’t understand the expression on his face – his eyes half-lidded, his face half concealed, like the shrouded light of the moon, like soft armoured fragility. The light of the kitchen bounces off the dark of his hair, keeping his face just slightly shadowed, and in the dark – and after a moment, Kuroo heaved himself up.

            “Well, if you say so,” Kuroo said, stepping away from the chair towards the kitchen counter, where the noodles were just beginning to boil. Kuroo promptly started preparing the spaghetti, draining the noodles with a practiced ease like he’d done it hundreds of times before. The vegetables were left undisturbed on the counter. “Dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes, Tsukki. You can go have a shower first. It’s been a long day at university, right? Physics is one hell of a major.” Kuroo grinned at him over his shoulder, and Tsukishima scowled as he pushed his chair back.

            “Yeah, it is.” Tsukishima said, as he stalked past Kuroo to get to his room, wondering why does he feel so angry.

 

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 _(12 weeks to moving_ ) 

            “ _Tsukki!”_ Kuroo bellowed from his bedroom at seven-thirty am in the morning, thus waking up Tsukishima and making him hate everything and anything that breathes, “ _have you seen my phone?”_

             _“No, and I don’t give a fuck either,”_ Tsukishima yelled back, irritably from under his bedcovers, turning on his side and crawling back in further under the covers and closing his eyes. Tsukishima didn’t have class that day until the afternoon. He deserved to sleep–

            _“Never mind, found it,”_ Kuroo yelled from the outside, and Tsukishima’s eyebrow twitched as he flung his blankets off his body and stalked outside to where Kuroo was, sitting at the table scarfing down his breakfast with both hands as his eyes rapidly scanned the notes in front of him. Kuroo’s hair was as much of a sight as ever, sticking up in twenty-one different directions on his head with his fringe in his face, and Tsukishima was not amused.

            Kuroo glanced up to see Tsukishima glaring down at him, short blonde hair rumpled and glasses askew, and managed to swallow down enough to talk around a mouthful. “Toast?” He offered, holding out his half-eaten slice. 

            “You,” Tsukishima enunciates carefully, rolling his mouth around each syllable, “are _too fucking noisy in the morning._ ” 

            And with saying that, Tsukishima slapped Kuroo upside the head.

            Admitting defeat to the fact that he was not going to get sleep anymore, Tsukishima padded over to the coffee machine and started it up, making the strongest possible brew for himself to try and wake himself up. He felt muddled and incoherent, his thoughts a jumbled whirl. Tsukishima blinked at the machine, and waited for it to finish brewing his coffee. 

            After having scarfed down his breakfast, Kuroo gathered up his plates and dumped them in the sink, just as the coffee machine beeped and signaled its completion of its task. “Aren’t you going to wash those,” Tsukishima muttered, eyeing the plates with congealed bits of food. 

            “If it’s still there when I get back, then I will,” Kuroo said easily, sweeping all his notes off the table and gathering them in one hand while simultaneously tying his hoodie around his waist with the other. In the meantime, Tsukishima poured himself a cup of coffee.

            Kuroo snatched it up and drank half of it in one gulp.

 _“What the fuck,”_ Tsukishima protested.

             Kuroo winked. “You still have an entire pot left, Tsukki, don’t worry. Besides, I really need the coffee – I stayed up real late last night studying and I can’t afford to fall asleep later.” Kuroo picked his backpack off the floor in front of a still stunned Tsukishima, sailing past him towards the door. “I have a class test later, wish me luck!” Kuroo called over his shoulder. “Bye Tsukki!” The front door closed with a _bang._

            Tsukishima gaped after the closed door, before Tsukishima recovered enough to narrow his eyes. Glancing at the dirty plates in the sink, Tsukishima resolved not to wash them, and stalked back to his room to try and get more sleep. It was too early for this.

            He left the coffee cold in the pot.

 

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            _(10 weeks to moving)_

            “Eeeaugh,” Kuroo moaned, sloping through the apartment door, and Tsukishima briefly glanced up from his book before deciding that this wasn’t worth his time, and looking back down again.

            Kuroo, however, predictably slumped down next to him on the couch, burying his face in a cushion, and groaned again at Tsukishima sitting in an armchair a distance away from him before he started talking.

            “Today was a bad day, Tsukki,” Kuroo’s voice came out muffled through the couch, face hidden as it was in cotton and stuffing. Tsukishima took a sip of his tea, and turned a page.

            “I don’t recall ever asking.” 

            “The teacher was an absolute _bitch_ to me–“ Kuroo continued on as if he hadn’t even heard Tsukishima, and Tsukishima curled his lip at the direction of where Kuroo was currently sprawled out, face-first on the couch, head facing towards him, “–and I wasn’t even doing anything in class today, but then she called on me and barked out, in that witch-like cackle voice of hers, “Kuroo, why are you using your phone?”, and I _wasn’t even using it, what I was tapping on was a calculator_ –“           

            Tsukishima snorted.

             “And Bokuto was just laughing at me, that little fucking asshole, I mean I love the bro but still, he’s gotta back a bro up when it counts, man, and–“

             Whilst Kuroo continued talking, Tsukishima continued reading his book, nonchalantly turning his pages as if he wasn’t listening at all. But as Kuroo blabbered, Tsukishima used his free hand to push the plate of cookies he had on the side table closer towards the couch, at the end where Kuroo’s face was currently pressed into a cushion propped against the couch arm, with his eyes still flicking over his page as if he hadn’t done anything at all. The sound of ceramic sliding across wood still reached Kuroo’s ears.

            Kuroo popped his head up, and he spotted the cookies. Kuroo looked at Tsukishima, and Tsukishima glanced at him over his glasses. Tsukishima watched as a smile bloomed on Kuroo’s face, sly looking but genuine, as Kuroo reached a hand out to take a cookie, and Tsukishima flicked his eyes away.

            Kuroo stuffed the cookie into his mouth. “Thanks Tsukki! Awww, I knew you loved me,” he teased, mouth spraying crumbs everywhere as he talked. Tsukishima wiped a crumb away from his face, grimacing. 

            “Don’t talk with your mouth full. Gross.”

 

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            _(8 weeks to moving)_

            “So did you talk to him about it?” Yamaguchi asked, slurping on a strawberry milkshake. 

            “Talk to who about what?” Hinata chirped, chewing on a burger, cheeks stuffed with food as he tilted his head curiously at Yamaguchi, and then at Tsukishima. He looked like a curious sparrow. Tsukishima sighed internally. 

            “Dumbass, don’t talk with your mouth full.” Kageyama swatted Hinata’s arm. 

            “Yeah, I did.” Tsukishima replied simply, and looked out of the window of the fast food restaurant they were currently in at the dark blanket night sky above. Even at this time, the streets outside were still busy with people hurrying from one place to another, streets lit with lamplight and neon signs and the lights from the high-rise buildings above. Cars drove by in a sea of flashes. The city was alive at night. But despite that all, there were still shadows hidden in crooks in the scenery outside, tucking itself into corners, stretching long from people’s bodies cast by the glow of the streetlight, darkest where the light shone. Tsukishima thought of Kuroo’s face from three weeks ago, lit by light and still shrouded in shadow, and he blinked once, twice.

            “Talk about what?” Hinata whined, pouting at Tsukishima who, lost in thought, had not replied him, and Tsukishima only looked disdainfully at Hinata and the food coming out of his mouth in response, and did not say a word. 

            It was Yamaguchi who answered on Tsukishima’s behalf. “Tsukki’s moving out of Kuroo’s apartment in two months.” Yamaguchi popped a fry into his mouth.

            Hinata’s eyes bugged. “You’re _what_?” He squawked.     

            This bugged Tsukishima, somehow; Tsukishima frowned, irritated. “I don’t see how this is any cause of surprise, Hinata,” he replied, somewhat snarkily, pushing up his glasses. “And even if it is, it’s none of your business. Now please kindly close your mouth. I can see all the half-chewed food you’ve got in there and it is frankly speaking disgusting.” 

            Hinata closed his mouth and vigorously chewed, and through sheer willpower and probably God’s mistake he managed to swallow all the hamburger he had in his mouth in one go, swallowing it like it wasn’t just probably twice the space and size and mass that his mouth could take, and Tsukishima resisted the urge to gag.

            “But why are you moving out, Tsukishima?” Hinata asked, eyes big and curious.

            Tsukishima grumbled. “None of your business.”

            Which, of course, was prompt for Yamaguchi to relate the precise events that led to this decision, which of course included a retelling of Kuroo’s antics, which of _course_ meant a telling of The Lettuce Dress Incident, in excruciating detail. In the middle of Yamaguchi describing the neckline of the dress ( _okay one, what the actual fuck, how does Yamaguchi know these things and two, how does he know what the neckline of the dress looked like I’ve never said anything about it_ ) and with Hinata howling with laughter and Kageyama trying desperately to hold it in and looking like a constipated murderer in the process, Tsukishima felt himself reach his limit.

            _“Okay, alright,”_ he said, leaning forward and shoving his ice-cold cup of coke right into Yamaguchi’s face, and making him yelp, _“I think you’ve said enough.”_

            Yamaguchi held up his hands. “Okay, okay Tsukki.”

            “ _Ehhh_ ,” Hinata started to whine, but backed off quickly at the glare Tsukishima leveled his way.

            “But back to the topic, though. So you’ve told Kuroo, but how did he respond?” Yamaguchi asked curiously.

            Tsukishima blinked a little bit, his face giving nothing away, but his eyes showed a hint of surprise. “He’s been the same as he’s always been. Obnoxious, loud, whiny–“

            “ _Completely_ the same?” Yamaguchi interrupted.

            Tsukishima was a little confused. But obligingly, Tsukishima spent a few minutes seriously mulling over it in his head before giving Yamaguchi a response. “Well, he hasn’t done any of those stupid pranks at all recently. I haven’t seen the lettuce dress at all, or any of his ridiculous antics. But aside from that,” Tsukishima gave a minimal shrug, “everything else is the same.”

            Yamaguchi was looking at him oddly again. There was a sort of gleam in his eyes that Tsukishima couldn’t read. “Aside from that?”

            “Aside from what?”

            “No, no, _aside from that_? Instead of that just being a small detail, don’t you think that that’s a big change, Tsukki?”

            Tsukishima frowned. “I suppose,” he allowed.

            Yamaguchi prodded Tsukishima gently. 

            “Isn’t that because he’s trying not to do the one thing that got you wanting to move out in the first place?”

            Tsukishima opened his mouth, started to speak, closed it again, and looked to the side. He was stunned.

            Kageyama, who had been for the entire time watching the exchange to the side with a small frown on his face, now opened his mouth to speak. “Isn’t that because Kuroo is–“ 

            “ _Woahohmy god hahaha no that’s okay Kageyama shut up please,_ ” Yamaguchi yelped nervously as he lunged across to cover Kageyama’s mouth with both hands, glancing mildly panicked at Tsukishima sitting next to Kageyama in the hopes that Tsukishima hadn’t heard Kageyama respond. Kageyama made a muffled noise of protest under Yamaguchi’s palms. “Mmpfh!”

            But Tsukishima’s attention was back on Yamaguchi again, eyes focused and sharp, and Yamaguchi cursed inwardly. “What was Kageyama going to say?”

            Yamaguchi laughed a little hysterically. “Hahahaha, nothing, nothing at all! He was just going to say that it was because Kuroo is _so_ annoying, isn’t that right Kageyama?”

            It was here that Hinata piped up. “No, Kageyama was going to say that the reason why Kuroo doesn’t want you to move out, Tsukishima, is because Kuroo’s been in love with you, been in love with you for _years_ now, and that’s probably why he wants you to stay! See,” Hinata said smugly in the midst of Yamaguchi’s strangled screech, “I know Kageyama much better than you do, Yamaguchi!”

            And in the space of ten seconds Tsukishima’s world rearranged itself. Ignoring Yamaguchi’s exasperated response of “that’s because you two are _dating,_ Hinata”, Tsukishima felt some sort of shock shake him down to his very foundations, startling him into something foreign. Here, in the dingy light of the twenty-four hour fast food restaurant with the dirty tiles and greasy paper packages, Tsukishima learnt something that he had never thought before, and it startled him so much that his mind was a whirl of static white noise for a good full minute. His mind felt buzzy. Tsukishima frowned.

            “How did you know?” He asked sharply, interrupting Yamaguchi and Hinata mid-conversation, as they both turned to look at him. Kageyama looked up in the middle of stuffing his mouth with fries, and turned his face to look at Tsukishima.

            “Know what?”

            “What else? Know that Kuroo is in love with me,” Tsukishima asked impatiently.

            Yamaguchi, Kageyama and Hinata looked at each other for a bit before turning back to face Tsukishima. “Tsukki… you’re kidding, right?” Yamaguchi asked, hesitantly.

            “What, no – why would I kid about something like that?”

            Yamaguchi, Kageyama and Hinata looked at each other again.

            “Because Kuroo’s been so obvious about it.” Yamaguchi said. “Everyone who saw you two together at any point knew. And we thought,” and here Yamaguchi hesitated again, before continuing, “and we thought you knew, and just didn’t like talking about it.”

            Tsukishima stared.

            (From the side, Kageyama frowned, before asking again, “wait, isn’t Tsukishima also–“ and was promptly hushed by Yamaguchi again.)

 

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            That night, Tsukishima reached home, and found Kuroo asleep on the couch. 

            Hinata’s words echoed in Tsukishima’s mind like a song on repeat, and Tsukishima frowned, brushing at his head like one might do at an irritating fly. Carefully, Tsukishima toed off his shoes and locked the door, before walking towards where Kuroo was, sprawled out on the couch.

            Kuroo was breathing softly, chest rising and falling slowly in his sleep, and the lines of his face was relaxed and smooth, hair falling into his eyes. At the angle he was currently in, the light from the open windows was hitting the line of his jaw just right, and his figure was bathed in a pale silvery glow. Tsukishima watched how the light from the moon slicked off the dark of his hair and the line of his jaw, and sunk deep into the planes of his chest, before emptying out into darkness at the hollows of his wrists, his throat, his arms. 

            Tsukishima didn’t know when he had gotten close enough to feel Kuroo’s breathing, but here he was: and as Kuroo’s breath washed across his face Tsukishima drew back, startled almost like he was guilty, and Tsukishima frowned at himself, at his own irrational behaviour. 

            Kuroo looked peaceful. Tsukishima hesitated a fraction, before leaning forward and gently carding a hand through Kuroo’s hair. It felt soft, like cat’s fur (Tsukishima snorts somewhere at the back of his mind, _of course it felt like the fur of a cat_ ) and the texture of it felt foreign under his fingers. Tsukishima felt a little awkward. His hand stayed there anyway. 

            Kuroo slumbered on, unaware. Tsukishima doesn’t know how long he squatted there, with a hand through Kuroo’s hair, staring at his face until he stopped thinking.

 

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            _(7 weeks to moving)_

            Two months before Tsukishima was supposed to move, and the tension that had been bubbling, slick and slow in their subtext, finally snapped.

            It had been over something small. Tsukishima had made some snarky comment as usual over something Kuroo had done – putting his feet up at the living room table, if Tsukishima remembered correctly – and usually Kuroo would’ve laughed it off, or made some pissy comment right back, but somehow that day, Kuroo had been in a bad mood. 

            Kuroo had chuckled once, a little bitterly. “Fine,” he said, heaving his feet off the coffee table, “but it’s not as if it matters, anyway.”

            Tsukishima paused on his way to his room. “What are you trying to imply?” He asked, frowning, pushing up his glasses.

            “Nothing,” Kuroo muttered, surly. 

            “Cut the shit, Kuroo,” Tsukishima said impatiently, rounding the couch to stare down at Kuroo, his eyes twitching behind his glasses, “you know I dislike cryptics, so spit it out. What the fuck did you mean?”

            Kuroo remained silent, looking to the side.

            Tsukishima grew more irritated. “ _Kuroo._ ”

            And that seemed to make something in Kuroo snap; he surged to his feet, and looked Tsukishima in the eye, glowering so hard at him that Tsukishima was actually slightly startled. 

            “Why are you even acting like you care about this place, anyway? After all,” and here Kuroo laughed again, bitter like before, bitter like the taste in Tsukishima’s mouth right now, “after all, you’re the one who chose to move out of this place, so I don’t see how anything I do under this roof has got anything to do with _you._ ”

            Tsukishima frowned. “What are you talking about? I’m moving in a month, but in that month I’m still living here, and that means that whatever you do here would affect me too. And I asked you to take your goddamn feet off the table because you were leaving scuff marks up there – aren’t you supposed to take off your shoes at the fucking door, Kuroo?

            Kuroo threw up his hands. “And there you go with that fucking know-it-all attitude of yours again!” Tsukishima’s hands clenched at his sides. “I don’t understand,” and Kuroo carded a hand wildly through his hair, and started pacing around the table, around Tsukishima; Tsukishima remembered faintly about touching Kuroo’s hair, how Kuroo’s hair felt like under his fingertips, “I don’t understand why you’ve got to be so particular about everything, about all my small mistakes, about all my goddamn small little habits that seem to _drive you crazy!_ Like,” Kuroo came to a stop in front of Tsukishima, eyes wild and angry, “like what’s next? Having to arrange the couch cushions just so? Having to keep my voice down at different precise hours of the day? Having to eat my salad and my pasta with different forks? _What the hell, Tsukki?_ ”

            Tsukishima glared at Kuroo coldly. “You never seemed to have a problem with me before.

             “This is just who I am,” Tsukishima continued, “and I’m sorry if you can’t take it but frankly speaking I don’t give a shi–"

            “ _Why isn’t anybody just ever good enough for you, Tsukki?”_ Kuroo finally burst out, chest heaving. 

            The words hung in the air, sour and thick like curdled spoiled milk, and already Tsukishima could see on Kuroo’s face that he had begun to regret what he had just said. But Tsukishima felt cold inside; like wind rattling in an ice shell. The distance between them, Kuroo behind the couch with the kitchen table behind him, and Tsukishima in front of the living room table staring at Kuroo, seemed to stretch like a million unreachable years.

            “I’m sorry you feel that way,” Tsukishima said finally. His voice sounded flat to his own ears. He turned on his heel, and started walking back to his room almost on autopilot.

            Kuroo hurried after him. “No, no, Tsukki wait, I’m sorry, Tsukki I–“ His hand, large and warm, stretched out after Tsukishima’s retreating figure. 

            Tsukishima whirled around. “At least I’m moving out in two months’ time,” Tsukishima said coldly, “then at least you don’t have to deal with me anymore, or my _personality_.” Kuroo’s hand jerked in mid-air. Tsukishima glared one last time at Kuroo’s frozen figure, before turning back around and continuing walking to his room in silence. The air was still. Tsukishima shut the door behind him with a _click._            

            Outside, Kuroo slid slowly to the floor behind the couch, burying his face in his hands as the air around him hung empty, and cursed himself for his stupidity.

            In his room, Tsukishima slid down on his door until he came to rest his head against it, and curled his knees up to his chest, wondering why he felt like he was young and in high school all over again.

 

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            _(6 weeks to moving)_

 

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            _(5 weeks to moving)_

 

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            _(4 weeks to moving)_

            Tsukishima woke up the morning to silence. Upon looking out of his room, he realised that Kuroo had already left, and that the dishes had been washed in the sink. It was like he was living with nobody.

 

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            _(21 days to moving)_

 

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            _(14 days to moving)_

            Kuroo popped his head into Tsukishima’s room as he was busy packing up his textbooks into cardboard boxes. “Do you need any help?” He asked.

            Tsukishima didn’t look him in the eye. “No, it’s fine.”

             “Oh. Okay then.”

            And that was that.

 

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            _(6 days to moving)_  

            “No offense, but the two of you are getting a bit ridiculous,” Yamaguchi told Tsukishima bluntly one day, on one fine afternoon over iced tea in Yamaguchi’s favourite café, sitting outside in the café’s outdoor wicker chairs with a throng of people walking to and fro beside them. The streets were noisy. Tsukishima felt a distinct sense of déjà vu; only instead of being _in_ the café, they were now _outside_ it. He glanced down at his drink; at least he had gotten a different iced tea this time.

            Tsukishima frowned. “How the hell am I being ridiculous?”

            “By being you.”

            Tsukishima glared at Yamaguchi, who was unperturbed and continued picking at his cake, taking out small forkfuls and savouring each bite. It was red velvet; it looked good, oozing cream cheese and fine red crumbs. Tsukishima, surly, took a bite into his own strawberry shortcake, the strawberries red and ripe and glazed with gelatin.

            “Honestly, Tsukki, this fight has been going for, what, a month now? And you guys still haven’t talked about it? What, are you guys just planning on giving each other the cold shoulder until you move out?”

            When Tsukishima didn’t answer, Yamaguchi sighed in exasperation. “Look, you two are being stupid. You’re clearly not talking to each other due to sheer avoidance and not because you guys are still angry at each other – so could one of you be the bigger person and _just start the conversation_?”

               Tsukishima slapped his fork down with a _clatter._ “ _There’s nothing to talk about_ ,” he said, his scowl pulling his eyebrows over his eyes, and Tsukishima looked angry and, for once, agitated. “ _There’s nothing to talk about because during that fight I heard all that I needed to know from him_ – and that is,” and here Tsukishima looked away, his eyes sliding from Yamaguchi’s gaze to the side, “and that is, is that he can’t stand me.”

            Yamaguchi fell silent, and stared at Tsukishima, concerned. Tsukishima’s face had smoothed out into a mask of impassivity, but Yamaguchi knew Tsukishima better than that. Tsukishima was still looking away.

            “There’s nothing to talk about because he’s said all that he needed to say.”

            For a full minute, over the bustle of the people walking past the café outside and the sounds of honking cars and busy intersections, their table was silent. Tsukishima’s gaze was fixed at some point in the distance, at the cars, and his eyes looked far, far away.  

            “…Tsukki?” Yamaguchi broke the silence, gently.

            Tsukishima’s eyes didn’t lift from where they were staring. “…What?” He muttered.

            “Don’t you think, what you’re feeling right now, is something you should consider?” Yamaguchi asked.

            And Tsukishima’s eyes lifted, startled, to meet Yamaguchi’s ones, over cake and cold glasses of iced tea, and Yamaguchi smiled at him sincerely, eyes crinkled in the corners, the same way like he used to smile at him back in high school, middle school, even elementary school; even through the years, Yamaguchi’s smile hadn’t changed, just adapted to fit a larger body.

            Tsukishima thought of half-shadows and of half-light, of curling grins and of silvery moonlight and of cooking when it was supposed to be his turn to, and something in Tsukishima shook him quietly to his core. His heart hummed slowly in his ribcage. He turned back to his strawberry shortcake.

            “Maybe.” Tsukishima allowed, quietly.

 

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            _(0 days to moving)_

            “Well,” Kuroo muttered, next to Tsukishima, “that’s the last of ‘em.”

            Tsukishima looked around his room. All of his stuff had been boxed up, packed away neatly into brown cardboard and stacked on top of each other like he had never lived here in the first place. His Jurassic Park posters from the wall, his favourite hoodie from the hook behind the door – all packed and ready to be moved to his new apartment location. The windows were closed. It was afternoon.

            “Yeah.” Tsukishima murmured. 

            And the silence hung tense and awkward around them as Tsukishima fumbled for what to do next. His new knowledge pressed weighted on his shoulders, like something he needed to share, but Tsukishima didn’t know how to begin chipping at the thick wall of ice that had come up between him and Kuroo in the past month since the fight. So Tsukishima just stayed silent, and picked at his sleeve; things seemed so much easier back when everything Tsukishima had to be worried about was Kuroo being a piece of shit as a person.

            Turned out, though, that Tsukishima didn’t have to fret over how to start a conversation, because it was Kuroo who started the conversation first. “Tsukki, look, for what happened before… I’m really sorry.”

            Tsukishima stayed silent.

            “I know I said all those things I said, but… I want you to know that I don’t think they’re true.”

            Tsukishima opened his mouth. “You had a point though,” he said, startling Kuroo as he turned his head to meet Kuroo in the eye, leaning against his bedroom doorframe, “I _am_ picky and irritable and patronizing on a lot of things. I’m bad at being polite, or seeming sincere, and I come off as being rude and condescending and sometimes, I am.” Tsukishima looked to the side again. “I _am_ hard to love, you weren’t exactly wrong back then.”

             _“No!”_ Kuroo burst out, causing Tsukishima to jolt, “ _that’s not true._ That’s not true at all – well, I mean,” Kuroo amended, after a split second moment of considering, and inwardly Tsukishima rolled his eyes, “you are irritable, and rude, and sometimes kinda really cold – but that never meant that you aren’t a decent person under all that. You do care, in your own way, and though it wasn’t necessarily the most obvious way, you still did, and honestly that’s what really matters.” Kuroo smiled at Tsukishima, sincere, and Tsukishima blinked. “You’re not bad, you’re just different. And that’s not always a bad thing.” 

            Tsukishima stared at Kuroo for so long that Kuroo was starting to get a little concerned. “Um, hello, Tsukki?” Kuroo asked, stepping forward and tentatively waving a hand in Tsukishima’s face, “are you still there? Did,” and here Kuroo grins, sly and curling like a cat’s once again, like before, “did hearing me compliment you sincerely made you shut down? Awww, Tsukki, don’t be like that–“ 

            And Tsukishima breaks out of his reverie to smile sincerely at Kuroo’s direction, smile small but genuine and very, very real. Kuroo could see the sincerity and the – was that relief – in his expression as Tsukishima smiled in his direction. His eyes even creased a little bit in the corners. Kuroo thought he felt his heart stop. “Thank you, Kuroo.” 

            Kuroo believed that his face was on fire right about now. “Um, sure, no problem–“

            “Also, I think I like you.”

            Now Kuroo was _sure_ that his heart had just stopped beating and that he had died and gone to heaven. “ _What?_ ” He spluttered, staring at Tsukishima as he bent down and briskly began opening up the cardboard box closest to him, taking out piles of folded clothes and setting it to one side. “Wait, wait Tsukki – _what did you just say? And what are you doing?”_

             Tsukishima looked up. “In response to your later question, I am unpacking my stuff. As for the former, I said, “I think I like you”, and I know that you like me too, so I am not moving and am thus unpacking my stuff. Help me and start opening up that box to your left, you shit, this is gonna take me at least the whole day if you decide not to help.”

            Kuroo stared wildly down at Tsukishima currently calmly unpacking his box of clothes, and asked, “what about the mover van?”

            “Cancelled it yesterday.”

             “The apartment?”

            “Cancelled my rent.”

            “What did the person say?”

            “He was okay with it.”

            “ _Who the hell told you that I liked you?”_

            And at this Tsukishima looked up from unfolding a t-shirt from the box to look at Kuroo, eyebrows raised, “am I wrong?”

            Kuroo was just about to splutter again, when he noticed that Tsukishima’s hands, the one holding onto the t-shirt, was shaking ever so slightly. _He was nervous, too._ And instantly Kuroo’s nerves seemed to melt away like snow in spring; he bent down, leant forward, and kissed Tsukishima on the lips.

            It was nothing more than a chaste, simple kiss; their lips pressed together, and Kuroo reveled in the feeling of Tsukishima’s lips against his, something that he’d dreamed of for so long. When he pulled away, he grinned smugly at a Tsukishima gaping in his direction, and slowly, slowly bumped his chest with his fist.

            “Score.”

            Tsukishima narrowed his eyes at him. “That’s it, we’re breaking up right now–“

            “Aww, c’mon Tsukki, don’t be like that, you know you love me–!”

            “What kind of a boyfriend says “score” after having their first kiss with their boyfriend, what kind of a disgrace are you, seriously–”

            Kuroo interrupted by wiggling his eyebrows. “Boyfriend, huh?”

            And it warmed Kuroo’s heart to see Tsukishima duck his head and avoid meeting his eyes as he grumbled, “shut up – are you gonna fucking help me with unpacking or not?” – really, it did. Kuroo didn’t think he could feel this happy.

            “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

 

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            _(2 months later)_

 _“Tsukki could you help get a towel?”_ Kuroo yelled down the hallway, to where Tsukishima was in the kitchen making dinner. They were having beef stew.

            Tsukishima rolled his eyes, but checked that the stew wasn’t over boiling before he wiped his hands on his apron and went to get a towel, a towel in which he promptly thrust into Kuroo’s face popping out of the bathroom door.

            “Will you stop forgetting to bring your towel into the shower? One of these days dinner is going to burn because of you, and I’m going to give you all the burned bits just to show you.” Tsukishima grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.  

            Kuroo grinned, his hair wet and dripping from the shower, and Tsukishima marveled at how, even when wet, Kuroo’s hair still managed to stick up in twenty different directions the way it did – really, his physics major should be dedicated to studying how precisely that worked, instead. “Aww, Tsukki, c’mon, don’t be like that! I’ll be out in about five minutes – you can go and get the stew ready.” With that, Kuroo shut the door.

            Tsukishima sighed heavily, and went back to the kitchen, stirring the stew in the pot and tasting a bit for flavour.

            Tsukishima heard Kuroo before he saw him; heard Kuroo’s feet step across the floors to where he was, coming to a stop behind him as Kuroo peered over his shoulder to see what was in the pot. “The stew’s not ready yet,” Tsukishima said briskly, “go sit down and wait for i–”

            And Tsukishima was cut off as Kuroo turned his head and kissed him on the mouth. Tsukishima was startled, but by no means complaining; and his hand came up to curl into Kuroo’s jaw as he closed his eyes and pressed himself into the kiss, ignoring the way Kuroo’s mouth seemed to curve up in a smirk in response.

            But then Tsukishima opened his eyes and got a full look of what Kuroo was _wearing._

            _“The green really brings out my eyes!”_ Kuroo cackled as he sprang away, sprinting for the door as Tsukishima flung the ladle into the sink and tore after Kuroo.

            _“I thought I told you to burn that godforsaken dress,”_ Tsukishima yelled, chasing Kuroo down the hall with a sole aim to decimate, “ _get back here Kuroo, what if the neighbours see–”_

            _“Baby, don’t hurt me–”_ Kuroo yelled back.

            _“Kuroo I swear to God–”_

            Yaku, who just came out of the elevator only to see Kuroo sprinting down the hallways cackling his head off and with Tsukishima in an apron hot on his heels, only sighed and shook his head,

            “Maybe _I_ should move instead.”

 

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**Author's Note:**

> When I started out writing this I expected it to be 100% crack but then it went ahead and grew a body and a structure and FEELINGS. 
> 
> Also, when I asked my friend what was the most ridiculous thing Kuroo could wear, what my friend told me was a fucking lettuce dress. I don’t know how my friend managed to get to that conclusion, but I took it and I rolled with it, and right now I want to say that I am very sorry. (Basically, what I’m trying to say is that, The Lettuce Dress is 100% my friend’s fault and not mine.)
> 
> [Time ended: July 5 2016, 12.42am;– ]


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